Pictures * The Story * The Cast * History
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2009 Regional Finalist
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Cast List:

Ko-Ko  - Henry Emiliano
Pooh-Bah - Calan Welder
Nanki-Poo - Jordan Chovanec
The Mikado of Japan – Tyler Webb
Pish-Tush - Hailey Endres
Yum-Yum - Nikki Herrera
Pitti-Sing – Olivia Brooks
Peep-Bo - Lauren McGarrah
Katisha  - Megan Vaught
Chorus/Nobles/Guards/Coolies
Gabby Herrera
William Hill
Julie Williams
Bobby Venglar
Malachi Brooks
Tori Brewer
 

Official Tech Crew
Dylan Baros
Jake Meador
Roman Emiliano
Megan Woodring
Julie Book
Trice Hermes

                        
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The Set

The Story:

 Nanki-Poo, the son of the royal mikado, arrives in Titipu disguised as a peasant and looking for Yum-Yum. Without telling the truth about who he is, Nanki-Poo explains that several months earlier he had fallen in love with Yum-Yum; however she was already betrothed to Ko-Ko, a cheap tailor, and he saw that his suit was hopeless. However, he has since learned that Ko-Ko has been condemned to death for flirting; and he has come to find Yum-Yum, his true love.

Nanki-Poo’s high hopes are dashed once more when Pish-Tush, a noble lord, informs him that Ko-Ko was reprieved and raised to the rank of lord high executioner. Pooh-Bah, first lord of the treasury, lord chief justice, commander-in-chief, etc., enters next, and he also holds out no hope for Nanki-Poo. Then Ko-Ko himself enters, ready to execute “plenty of people whose loss will be a distinct gain to society at large.”

Next enters Yum-Yum, who reluctantly allows Ko-Ko to kiss her, even though she doesn’t love him; however, she catches sight of Nanki-Poo and rushes over to him. Nanki-Poo, expecting an angry reaction from Ko-Ko, blurts out that he loves Yum-Yum. “Anger!” responds Ko-Ko. “Not a bit, my boy. Why, I love her myself.”

The crowd departs, and Yum-Yum and Nanki-Poo are left alone. He confides to her that he is really the son of the mikado, but, ordered by his father to marry Katisha, an elderly lady of the court, he has fled. However, they realize the hopelessness of their situation--and, sadly, they part.

Ko-Ko, Pooh-Bah, and Pish-Tush enter, bearing a letter from the mikado which complains that no executions have taken place in Titipu for a year and, unless somebody is beheaded within the month, Titipu will be reduced to a mere village.

Nanki-Poo decides that his only option is to commit suicide, but Ko-Ko persuades Nanki Poo to let him behead him instead. To clinch the deal, Ko-Ko even agrees to let Nanki-Poo marry Yum-Yum, providing he agrees to be executed in one month.

As wedding preparations progress, Ko-Ko arrives with bad news: he has learned that the law dictates that when a man is beheaded, his wife must be buried alive. Yum-Yum, while not wishing to appear selfish, points out that this revelation does change things. In despair, Nanki-Poo pulls out a dagger and threatens to kill himself if Ko-Ko doesn’t agree to behead him now. However, Ko-Ko can’t; he can’t kill anything, not even a fly. Then, just before the mikado arrives, they come up with a solution: Nanki-Poo and Yum-Yum will be married and will go into hiding, while everyone pretends that the execution has taken place.

When the mikado and Katisha arrive, he is pleased that an execution has taken place, but admits that his real purpose in visiting is to find his son. Katisha spots the name on the execution certificate--Nanki-Poo!--and the mikado, while agreeing that a mistake has certainly been made, says that killing the royal heir involves a horrible death.

History of The Mikado:

A Brief History of The Mikado

The idea for The Mikado first sprang into W.S. Gilbert's mind when an old Japanese sword, which had been hanging on the wall of his study for years, suddenly fell from its place. Gilbert took this as an omen and determined to leave his own country alone for a while and turn his biting satire instead towards the East. He did not have to look far to research the subject of his new play. He found all the material he wanted in Knightsbridge, a little village of Japanese immigrants within a mile of his own home in South Kensington. Here, he witnessed the strange arts, devices and lifestyles of this proud race. There was an unmistakable feeling for all things Japanese in the air. Thirty years earlier the Queen had sent the Emperor of Japan a warship as a present from the British people. The Japanese were given permission to travel outside of their own country. A display of Japanese arts and crafts at the International Exhibition of 1862 in London inspired a vogue for Japanese design.

When the Japanese sword fell from Gilbert's wall it suggested to him the outline for an entirely new opera, and he wrote to Sullivan to suggest the idea. Never slow to take an opportunity when it offered itself, a male dancer and Geisha girl were hired to coach the company as to the correct oriental manner and makeup.

The Mikado opened at the Savoy on 14 March 1885, when the curtain rose to reveal the town of Titipu, 'like an enormous Japanese fan'. To paraphrase the innumerable critics 'The Mikado' was- 'frank', ' palpable', 'magnificent' and an 'unbounded success'. So much so that one critic was moved to exclaim, 'Sir Arthur Sullivan's and Mr. W.S. Gilbert's new Japanese opera, The Mikado, is subject to one disadvantage, and only one - the difficulty of getting sight of it. Such is the anxiety of the public to witness it, that, though the theatre were twice as large as it is, it would not suffice for the accommodation of all comers.'

The Mikado ran at the Savoy until 19 January 1887.

Sullivan conducted the American premiere of The Mikado (though Gilbert was unable to attend), and made an unusual statement at the close of the performance, including the following:

The talented ladies and gentlemen who form this company have worked with an enthusiasm and good-will impossible to praise too highly and difficult to acknowledge as we would wish. We should have been grieved indeed, had you received your first impressions of our opera from a spurious imitation. . . . , in which the music from having been made up from a pianoforte arrangement must necessarily be mutilated and be a misrepresentation of the meaning of the composer. . . . It may be that some day the legislators of this magnificent country, which I have lately traversed from East to West, may see fit to afford the same protection to a man who employes his brains in literature and art that they do to one who invents a new beer tap or who accidentally gives an extra turn to a screw, doing away with the necessity of boring a hole first. In that day those unfortunate managers and publishers who, having no brains of their own, are content to live by-well, annexing the brain property of others, will be in an embarrassing and pitiable condition, and I for one will promise them my warmest sympathy. But even when that day comes, as I hope and believe it will come, we, the authors and creators, shall still, as we do now, trust mainly to the unerring instinct of the great public for what is good, right, and honest, and we shall still be deeply grateful, as I am to-night to you, ladies and gentlemen, for your cordial appreciation, your quick sympathy, and your generous recognition of our efforts to interest and entertain you.

The New York Times responded as follows:

The effect of Sir Arthur's remarks would have been happier had he confined himself to returning thanks for the public's reception of the work just performed, and to expressing his gratification that the "authorized version" of "The Mikado" had met with the success it merited. The first part of the address . . . was in the right vein, and was as graceful in form as it was becoming in spirit. Its second half was less felicitous, and, its tone, which recalled the cry of the proverbial fowl on its proverbial platform, and its setting, in which the hope was uttered that art works should have the same protection as newly invented "beer taps," together with an assumed indignation at the proceedings of other persons, the indignation finding relief in hasty substitutions of civil words for intended vigorous terms, wrought a rather unpleasant impression. Mr. W.S. Gilbert no doubt harbors the same opinions as his colaborer, but his literary judgment would have counseled him to defer their publication until a more suitable opportunity, and above all, to avoid the inelegant comparisons resorted to by Sir Arthur. Perhaps, however, if Mr. Gilbert were let loose in the orchestra he would play greater havoc than Sir Arthur Sullivan on the rostrum.